


Out

by Mires (krisalis)



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Coming Out, Future Fic, Gen, M/M, On Hiatus, Ronan POV, Written Before BLLB, can be read as standalone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 17:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1752842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krisalis/pseuds/Mires
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ronan Lynch did not have a drinking problem.</p><p>The drinking was just a side effect of his other problems, which were many and varied. This subtle distinction was unfortunately lost on Gansey, who had done a lot of complicated mental gymnastics to downplay and ignore the other problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out

**Author's Note:**

> Though I had both good intentions and an outline or draft for five more similarly-themed bits in this collection, after posting the first one I was hit by a wave of depression that gave new meaning to "loss of interest in daily activities". After reading Blue Lily, Lily Blue, there are some bits and pieces of those drafts that I want to re-evaluate and/or hold until after the last book is published. It's quite possible I'll continue this as a collection at some point, but the existing chapter can and should be read as a standalone until then.

Ronan Lynch did not have a drinking problem.

The drinking was just a side effect of his other problems, which were many and varied. This subtle distinction was unfortunately lost on Gansey, who had done a lot of complicated mental gymnastics to downplay and ignore the other problems. Accordingly, he’d developed an annoying habit of lecturing Ronan about alcoholism every time he got drunk at Monmouth.

Gansey had two speeches. One was general purpose, for the many times he came home to find Ronan working his way through a case of beer, and one was more severe, for the occasions when he caught Ronan swilling whiskey directly from the bottle.

Tonight, the drinking was a side effect of his Adam Parrish problem.

Among other things, this meant that tonight it would have been the second speech, and Ronan had no desire to hear it again. There was no need. He’d committed it to memory.

This also meant that Ronan’s usual solution of hiding out at St. Agnes was off the table. Instead, Ronan had retreated to the old bridge over the river to seethe and drink alone. He’d come here a lot more often before Adam.

Before Adam, St. Agnes felt as familiar as the Barns. It was a weekly feature of his childhood, a close and somber sanctuary. After Adam, it felt somehow more intimate. A refuge where there was always a possibility of Adam finding him and letting him up to the apartment, or sitting silently next to him in the pews.

Ronan hadn’t been to the bridge in months.

But he was there now, hunched over the railing, legs dangling over the fast-moving water below, wishing he could replace the sounds of the river and cicadas with the reverent quiet of the church.

He was well on his way to drunk when he felt an icy hand on his arm. He jumped, knocking painfully into the railing and letting out a generous string of curses.

Noah withdrew. “Sorry!”

Having a ghost for a friend was an experience that didn’t get any less strange over time. Sometimes Noah was solid, as real and reasonable as any of Ronan’s other friends but for the eternal smudge on his cheek. Sometimes Noah was a disembodied voice, a sudden and desperate chill sweeping through him, a prickle at the back of his neck.

“Jesus, Noah. Way to make an entrance,” Ronan growled. “That’s creepy as fuck.”

Tentatively, Noah said, “Ronan?” His eyes were darting back and forth between Ronan and the water.

“Don’t get excited, I wasn’t thinking about jumping.” Ronan’s voice was corrosive. “I just didn’t want to deal with Gansey giving me shit.” He waved the whiskey bottle vaguely. Noah edged back toward him and sat down.

“Usually you go to the church,” he said.

Ronan picked at the moss on the railing. With Noah, it was hard to tell if the statement was pointed, or just an observation.

“I didn’t want to deal with that either.”

Noah hummed in agreement. He’d found some pebbles in the slats of the bridge and was dropping them one by one into the river, watching them disappear into the current.

Ronan thought of Noah revealing that Adam had sent flowers to 300 Fox Way. Noah telling him about Adam and Gansey’s plans to leave town together. Noah in Dollar City saying _I know why you’re mad._

Somehow Noah managed to find out about a lot of things he shouldn’t.

_It’s not my job to tell other people’s secrets._

Ronan tore savagely at a strip of moss.

“How much do you see when we don’t know you’re there?” It wasn’t as much a question as an accusation.

Noah sighed deeply and a breeze kicked up, rustling leaves above them. Ronan heard the two sounds as one. He couldn’t shake the impression that Noah’s breath was responsible for the shivering trees.  

“It depends,” Noah said. His hands fluttered over his legs, then dropped to his sides. Ronan persisted.

“Like, are you omniscient or something? Do you just float around watching people?”

Noah’s mouth pinched. He didn’t like dissecting the particulars of his deadness. “I don’t see everything. Just some things,” he said, tone plaintive. “I can’t help it.”

Ronan stared at the railing. He’d picked it clean and now his fingers dug at the pulpy wood.

“Awhile back,” he said. “When you said you didn’t tell other people’s secrets.”

Noah made a gesture that was both a shrug and a nod, and irritation nipped at Ronan. He didn’t want to have to be the one to say it. He didn’t know how to form the words. A hundred possible phrasings flashed through his head. He couldn’t imagine himself saying any of them.

Finally, he just said, “You know about Adam.”

Noah looked at him with wide eyes, luminous in the moonlight.

“About me and Adam,” Ronan clarified. Noah kept staring. For one torturous moment, Ronan thought he’d misinterpreted. But then he caught the glint of mischief in Noah’s expression.

“Don’t be a shithead.”

Noah laughed a little breathy laugh, nudged Ronan’s shoulder with his own.

“Yeah,” he said simply. “I know.”

Ronan sighed and slumped forward, dropping his forehead against the railing. He could practically feel the splinters working themselves into his skin. He could definitely feel the whiskey working its way through his bloodstream.

“Noah,” he said, without moving. “What the fuck am I doing?”

“Making out with Adam?” Noah offered.

Ronan briefly reconsidered his stance on jumping.

“Don’t think being dead means I won’t kick your ass.”

“Is he your boyfriend?”

Ronan threw an elbow in Noah’s direction, but there was no conviction behind it. Noah elbowed him back cheerfully.

After a minute, Ronan said, “No. I don’t know.” Then, derisively, he added, “I should call Declan, he’s the expert on casual relationships.”

Noah hummed again, contemplative this time.

“Is it casual? The thing with Adam?”

Ronan kicked at the bridge foundation. He was silent for awhile.

Eventually, he said, “I don't know. I don't even know if it's a thing.”

Noah looked like he was considering this deeply.

“Maybe you should ask him.”

Ronan shot him a look of sheer disbelief.

“Well, you should!” Noah protested. “You’re gonna have to talk to him about it eventually.”

“Says who?” Ronan retorted. Noah looked at him, eyes wide again.

“Like, _everyone_. That’s just how it works.”

The fact that Noah had a point only annoyed Ronan more.

“Your wisdom is truly staggering,” he said bitterly, swirling the whiskey bottle and staring down at the dregs.

Noah ignored the jab. “You’re friends. You’ll figure it out.”

Maybe that was true. Maybe it wasn’t. It was the question at the core of the Adam Parrish problem.

Ronan took one last, long swig of whiskey and, ignoring Noah’s protests, tossed the empty bottle into the river.

He was beginning to think he’d rather have a drinking problem.

 


End file.
